


Memory Slip: the Days and Nights of Gregory House's Ghost Writer

by Carrie_oke



Category: Gregory Horror Show
Genre: Gen, OC, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrie_oke/pseuds/Carrie_oke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Among the collection in Gregory House's library, you'll find quite a few books written by a mysterious "Ghost Writer." The residents of the hotel have yet to figure out this author's identity, probably because they forget her every time they see her.</p><p>It gets really tedious having to introduce yourself to the same person over and over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Typical Night

It wasn't hard to find her room. All you had to do was look for the "Someone lives here" sign. Occasionally, you could find her phasing right through it.

Tonight, however, the girl who called herself "the Ghost Writer" opened the door normally. She figured she should remind herself how to use a doorknob in case she ever needed to. And now that she was out of her room, it was time to wander around Gregory House, the hotel where Ghost Writer lived. Her usual first stop was the lobby, so as if by automation, that's just where she went.

She drifted down the dimly lit hallway, past rows of guests' doors and a couple of actual guests, who stopped to look at her. Despite being fully aware of their gazes, she didn't even bother to glance back. This was just business as usual.

Eventually, she reached a wooden front desk, and a shelf stocked with a few bones was not too far away. Yep. This was the lobby alright. And the place's namesake, Gregory himself, was relaxing in a chair behind the desk, reading a magazine and patiently waiting for the next victim. Well, he preferred the term "guest."

Soon after Ghost Writer entered, the old mouse looked up from his reading material. "Oh, hello there," he said. "I don't believe I've seen you around here before." The thing was, he HAD seen her before. Multiple times, actually.

But the ghost girl didn't say anything about it. She was used to this. And she knew that jogging his memory was hopeless.

"I'm not sure how you managed to enter without my seeing you, but you MUST be tired," Gregory continued. "Would you like a room?"

Like in play rehearsals that have been going on for months, Ghost Writer had to suppress the urge to mouth the words along with him. And she knew her line all too well. "I already have one," she recited.

Right on cue, Gregory raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I don't remember giving you one."

"Yeah," she replied dryly. "I have one."

The aged innkeeper shrugged. "Alright, if you say so," he said, and he went back to his questionable magazine disguised as a not-so-questionable one.

When Ghost Writer floated around the room a bit and examined those bones up close, she began to wonder where they came from. Who they came from. Were they even real bones? Knowing this place, they probably were. There was a story behind them, and someday, this ghost wanted to come up with a good guess. Maybe there had been a pirate who'd brought them here? No, if that were the case, the writer would have seen a pirate around here by now.  Maybe they were the remains of one of Hell's Chef's dishes! No, they couldn't have been; the chef always made sure the bones were properly disposed of.

Maybe GW could use some inspiration. So she decided to stop by the library and look at some of her earlier work; maybe some would come to her then.

Gregory looked at her again as she left the hallway, and as she floated farther away, she heard him say, "Wait! If I may ask, just WHO are you?" A few moments later, however, he said, "Huh? What was I just doing?"

As the ghost girl drifted down the hallway that led to the library, Gregory's statement that memory was a selective thing anyway faded out, and it was replaced by an all-too-familar tune. The lyrics went something like this:

"Do you know who I am?

They call me Judgement Boy!"

Ah, crud.

Ghost Writer wasn't in the mood for another judgement, especially because he asked the SAME QUESTION EVERY SINGLE TIME. Just one of the many effects of her...unusual situation. And not only that, but he dropped the heart every time, no matter what answer GW gave. He insisted that it was because his balance could only tell the truth, but GW was convinced that boy was rigged.

The singing grew louder as Judgement Boy approached. 'Quick, hide!' Ghost Writer mentally shouted at herself. But where?

Relief washed over her when she saw a pair of doors on the side of the hallway. The bathrooms! Thank goodness! They had decided to show up tonight! (No, really, sometimes they weren't there. Gregory'd said it was something about not waiting to take opportunities.)

Less than a second after she'd been spotted, she shoved open the women's room door, ducked in the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her. 'There,' she thought. 'That should get rid of him.' It always did.

Which was why she was so startled when she heard his favorite word. "JUUUUUUDGEMENT!"

But it wasn't followed by an "I know you're in there!" Instead, he went right on with the question. "You're about to play the final match in a tennis tournament, the winner of which receives a huge cash prize. But just as the match is about to start, you receive a call from your mom saying your little sister has been fatally wounded. What do you do?"

Again, Ghost Writer let out a sigh of relief. She didn't even have a little sister. Besides, in a tennis tournament, she wouldn't even make it past the preliminaries, let alone win the finals. So there was no way this question was meant for her. Then again, she didn't know anyone who WAS a tennis player in this hotel. It was probably a new guest, then.

This guest said that of course he'd go visit his sister, what was that set of scales talking about? And then, as usual, Judgement Boy proclaimed they should consult the Balance of Truth.

And suddenly, Ghost Writer got an idea. She emerged from the bathroom and snuck underneath Judgement Boy, making sure to keep to his right. And once she'd found a good spot, he stopped short, and of course, he dropped the heart.

Instead of shattering, though, the heart fell right into GW's ghostly hand. "You compete anyway, and...wait, where's the shatter?" Judgement Boy looked down to find Ghost Writer gliding in front of him.

"I always did feel bad for these things," she said. "What a waste of hearts." And with that, she darted away.

Now, about that book...

 

 


	2. The First Night

She emerged from the nature trail lost and confused. The night had fallen pretty quickly, and her family was nowhere to be seen. Tying her shoe couldn't have taken _that_ long, so where were her parents and brother? Had they found a rest stop? Were they waiting in the parking lot?

Had they left without her?

'No,' she tried to assure herself. 'They couldn't have.' But as she mindlessly walked on, through the parking lot, the fear wouldn't go away. Maybe they _had_ left her by herself. She'd lost them before. Granted, she'd always found them again, but maybe she wouldn't this time. Maybe they'd forgotten her.

She came back into focus with the intention of finding the family car. But for some reason, there were no cars at all. She wasn't even walking on asphalt. Had she turned back without knowing?

No matter what had happened, there was nothing left to do except keep on walking. Especially because when she looked back, she found that there was no parking lot _behind_ her, either. Maybe she was just getting ahead of herself and hadn't reached it yet.

As she kept on walking, though, things became more and more suspicious. She knew for a fact that she hadn't been far from the end of the nature trail, so why wasn't this forest ending? Where were the cars, the people, the buildings?

Actually, there was one building. Behind a graveyard of all things. Curious, she stepped closer. This ominous structure had a surprising lack of windows, and the entrance was a pair of doors underneath a sign reading "Gregory House."

Would it be a bad idea to enter? Possibly. But she was willing to do anything to get some help. So she pulled open one of the creaky doors, and carefully, she stepped in.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she noticed there was someone there. An old...mouse, it looked like. Fully dressed and reading a magazine of some sort, though with eyes mismatched like that, it was a miracle he was able to do so. Was she seeing this right?

The mouse looked up from his material. "Oh, hello there. It's not every day we see a woman come here alone, especially one as young as yourself." He set his reading material down and emerged from behind the desk to meet her. "Would you like a room?"

So this was a hotel of some sort. "Actually, I just wanted to know where the parking lot was," she said.

"Parking lot?" the mouse repeated. "Oh, we don't have one. Nobody drives here. The only way to come is on foot."

"Really? It's a wonder you stay in business, then," she commented.

"Believe me, there's enough desperation in the world for that not to be a problem." He let out a somewhat unsettling chuckle.

"O...kay. So, I guess I really am lost. Might as well stay here until my parents come find me."

"What makes you so sure they will?" There was that laugh again. It was creeping her out. "Just kidding. Come." He grabbed a set of keys from a rack above the desk, then waved her along as he walked into the hallway. "I'll show you to your room."

"My room? I was just planning to hang out in the lobby for a bit. Besides, I don't have any money."

"The rooms here are complimentary," he assured her. "You might as well make yourself comfortable while you're waiting. It could take a long time." And again came that laugh.

She ignored the last part of what he'd said. "Is this even a business you're running here?"

"Revenue doesn't have to be in the form of money, you know."

As she was trying to figure out what he meant by that, he stopped short in front of a door labeled 213. Luckily, she was able to stop behind him before anyone got hurt. "Here we are," he said. "Make yourself comfortable."

She nodded and went in, looking around. It was an average little hotel room; it just had a smaller bed than usual. And there was no TV. Or bathroom, for that matter. What kind of hotel didn't have bathrooms in it? No WONDER this room was free!

"I almost forgot. You'll just have to use the bathroom when you see it," the mouse said, as if he could read her mind. "And by the way, I don't suggest you open those closet doors. At least, not until you're ready." Okay, that laugh was really starting to get on her nerves.

She found herself staring at those closet doors. She hadn't even _considered_  opening them before he mentioned it.

"If you need anything, just call," he continued. "I'm Gregory. Enjoy your stay." As he left and closed the door, he added, "forever," and of course another chuckle.

This place was weird. Really weird. And that Gregory person had raised countless questions. No matter how many there were, most could be summed up with just two: what was the deal with this hotel, and how was she supposed to get home?

Well, Gregory had heavily implied that she wasn't going home at all. But it was too early to give up. 'If you think something's impossible, it definitely is,' she thought to herself. 'But if you think it's possible, it might be.' See, Gregory? She could be philosophical, too.


End file.
